The Inspector's Thoughts
by algyy
Summary: The school had hardly changed in all the years since Hecketty Broomhead had last seen it – not, of course, that she had been known as Hecketty Broomhead then. Sort-of sequel to Not Always This Way.


Author's Note: A sequel to my other story, Not Always Like This. Hecketty Broomhead's reflections during the episode The Inspector Calls.

"It's an honour to make your acquaintance again, Mistress Broomhead."

"I wish I could say the pleasure was mine. I must say, Constance, I am surprised to find such a promising student as you ending up in an establishment like this."

The school had hardly changed in all the years since Hecketty Broomhead had last seen it – not, of course, that she had been known as Hecketty Broomhead then.

The faces had changed, perhaps; the teachers were different, though apparently just as idiotic for the most part; there was a rather strange abundance of fluorescent labels (what sort of imbecile felt compelled to label a chair?). But on the whole it was the same old place, draughty, cold, a damaged institution limping shambolically from one crisis to the next. She had been hardly surprised by the recent reports of chaotic goings-on; it was a wonder the place had kept going for as long as it had. But witches, for the most part, liked tradition, and they liked old names with illustrious magical history attached – names like Cackle and Hallow – and somehow the place kept hobbling on. A headmistress of Cackle's could perhaps wield some considerable power in the witching world, if she chose to exert it. But of course the Cackle's headmistresses had always been rather lacking in both imagination and ambition. They seemed to feel that there was something to be said for kindness. Hecketty still remembered painful interviews with the current Miss Cackle's grandmother, in which the silly old woman had been so very, very kind and understanding. It had set Hecketty's teeth on edge. The old fool had deserved to be turned into a lizard, they all had. Hecketty's only regret was that she had been made to reverse the spell.

Yes, she had been a pupil here, back in the days when she had been Wilhelmina Wormwood, the wickedest witch in the school. She had hated it then and she hated it still. She remembered lying in her cold narrow bed at night, listening to the whistling of the wind, giving herself over to a sort of ecstasy of hatred, hatred of the castle, the teachers, the pupils, the lessons, the whole damn world and everything in it.

The other girls had made fun of her in the first year, she remembered, for being afraid of bats. She had learnt from that, learnt that one had to either bully or be bullied, be afraid or be feared. She had relished making their lives hell, making them cry, making them feel just a fraction of the pain that she had to feel day in and day out. It had been the beginning of a lifelong addiction. There were so many ways to make one's fellow humans suffer, ways that didn't even require magic, subtle ways that left no marks but went straight to the soul.

She remembered Amelia Cackle as a pupil, of course, though they had been in separate classes. Not a powerful witch, but diligent and willing to study. She had always been kind to everyone. Her twin sister Agatha had been rather less pleasant: a lazy girl, who tended to get by copying Amelia's work. Amelia always let her, of course; she always looked out for Agatha. Amelia, Hecketty had always felt, was a fool.

Agatha had been jealous when Granny Cackle left the school to Amelia, horribly jealous. She was more ambitious than Amelia. She wanted status, recognition – and of course a livelihood. She had thought the school would be hers, and had relished the idea of being known as Cackle's headmistress; being sucked up to by the Hallows, the Moonshines, the Newts and the rest; having visits from the Grand Wizard; living her days in a comfort funded by school fees. If she had succeeded in taking over, Hecketty thought grimly, it would have been a rude awakening. The school accounts were a mess, and the youngest member of the Newt family had just broken tradition and started attending Pentangle's. But Agatha had dreamed of power and status, just as most people did. And now she was off living in grubby rented lodgings with only those gruesome idiots Bindweed and Coldstone for company (Hecketty remembered them as schoolgirls too, and aside from shedding the school uniform and losing a few teeth, neither of them had changed very much). And meanwhile, here was she, Hecketty Broomhead née Wilhelmina Wormwood, whom everyone had predicted would come to no good, an OFWitch inspector with the power to close this old place down once and for all. How sweet revenge was.

And an extra edge was added to that revenge – an edge at once sweet and hard to take – by the presence of Constance Hardbroom. What an irony it was, that the girl who had once been her most promising protégée should now be working at the very place she hated the most. It was a small world indeed.

Constance could have done so much better. She had been the most powerful of all Hecketty's protégées, the most powerful and the most skilled. She had studied hard – Hecketty had seen to that. She could have had anything, done anything, been anything. And yet she had ended up here, in a school going to the dogs.

Constance's mind had always been a little of a mystery to Hecketty, and that had been frustrating. Young witches, to Hecketty's mind, had to be broken before they could achieve their full potential. That the process of breaking them was so exquisitely enjoyable was merely an added bonus.

But there had been something indomitable about Constance. Hecketty had been able to damage but not break her. Some little corner of her soul always seemed to be just out of reach. She had always managed to keep clutching at some remnant of her own identity. She met the standards, achieved success, but would not relinquish her soul. She was one of those strange people who did not really seem to crave power, who seemed more interested in such abstract concepts as "doing good". That her most promising student of all should be a mere deputy head in a failing school, taking orders from a woman with half her abilities, was an insult.

But once the school was closed down, as after today it would be...Constance would be out of a job. The school inspectors were always looking for talented new recruits. Hecketty could put in a good word for her. And then they could work together for a time, while Constance learnt the ropes. It would be like old times.

Today, Hecketty thought, was the beginning of the end for Cackle's Academy. The inspection was a mere formality; she knew already what her decision would be. It wouldn't be quite as satisfying as encasing the place in ice, as she had once attempted to do, but the effects would last a lot longer. Today was the end of Cackle's Academy, and Hecketty Broomhead was looking forward to watching it crumble.

"Miss Cackle, you can't really expect leniency, can you? Your academy is not only failing, it is a den of lies and subterfuge. It will give me great pleasure to close it down."


End file.
